#cookhouse

[rramblinrroots]

My first post. This is my little slice of paradise, my cookhouse where I prepare dinners a few days a week for my family

[eloquent-music]

After quite a bit of time of being busy and all, he's satisfying himself with a drink first before doing anything about the current injury to his upper leg right now. Now this---this is what he's needed.

[icleanedthisplate]

Local Mix w/Grilled Chicken. Urban Cookhouse. Huntsville, Alabama. 1.12.2024.

NOTE TO SELF: Haven't had this one since July of 2021, but it's still a solid salad option.

Currently ranked 3rd of 10 January meals.

[shellwanders]

Foggy Mountain Cookhouse: A Culinary Gem in Baguio City

Foggy Mountain Cookhouse is a charming restaurant in Baguio City, Philippines, known for its delicious and creative dishes. The restaurant is located in a quiet residential area, away from the hustle and bustle of the city center. This makes it a perfect place to relax and enjoy a delicious meal with friends or family. Traveling to Habibis grill Baguio for the first time? This detailed and…

[theopalempress]

The Opal Empress

A special Wedding Anniversary TOKYO VLOG at DISNEYLAND! Featuring the Disney Resort Line Trains, Cinderella's Castle Fantasyland, Space Mountain of Tokyo Disneyland, Tomorrowland, Adventureland, Star Tours 3D Star Wars Ride, Westernland, Big Thunder Mountain, Western River Railroad Steam Train, Cowboy Cookhouse Smoked Turkey Legs, Mark Twain Riverboat, Haunted Mansion, Cinderella's Fairy Tale Hall, Throne & Glass slipper, It's a Small World Ride, Splash Mountain Critter Country, Toontown, Enchanted Tale of Beauty and the Beast, Disney Omnibus, World Bazaar, Vintage Penny Arcade, Souvenir Medallion, Classic Claw Machine, Mickey Hamburger Pillow & Donut Magnet Souvenir, Disney Nighttime Evening Lights, Castle & Disney Hotel, Disney 40th Anniversary Train & lots more!

💌Living in Japan is a dream come true for me, so if you enjoyed this video and want to watch more, feel free to suggest topics you'd like to see on this channel!

🩷LIKE & Support!✅👉 https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCXjsqwAczwjdI5ilP0x3hQg?sub_confirmation=1

[sassenach77yle]

7x10 “Brotherly Love”

THE NEW MEDICAL CHEST sat on the table in my room, gleaming softly in the candlelight. Beside it were the gauze bags of dried herbs I had bought during the morning, the fresh bottles of the tinctures I had brewed in the afternoon, much to Mrs. Figg’s displeasure at having her kitchen’s purity so perverted. Her slitted eyes said that she knew me for a rebel and thought me likely a witch; she’d retreated to the doorway of the cookhouse while I worked but wouldn’t leave altogether, instead keeping silent suspicious watch over me and my cauldron.A large decanter of plum brandy was keeping me company. Over the course of the last week, I had found that a glass of it at night would let me find surcease in sleep, at least for a little. It wasn’t working tonight. I heard the clock on the mantelpiece downstairs chime softly, once.I stooped to pick up a box of dried chamomile that had spilled, sweeping the scattered leaves carefully back into their container. A bottle of syrup of poppies had fallen over, too, lying on its side, the aromatic liquid oozing round the cork. I set it upright, wiped the golden droplets from its neck with my kerchief, blotted up the tiny puddle from the floor. A root, a stone, a leaf. One by one, I picked them up, set them straight, put them away, the accoutrements of my calling, the pieces of my destiny.The cool glass seemed somehow remote, the gleaming wood an illusion. Heart beating slowly, erratically, I put a hand flat on the box, trying to steady myself, to fix myself in space and time. It was becoming more difficult by the day.I remembered, with sudden, painful vividness, a day on the retreat from Ticonderoga. We had reached a village, found momentary refuge in a barn. I’d worked all day then, doing what could be done with no supplies, no medicines, no instruments, no bandages save what I made from the sweat-sodden, filthy clothes of the wounded. Feeling the world recede further and further as I worked, hearing my voice as though it belonged to someone else. Seeing the bodies under my hands, only bodies. Limbs. Wounds. Losing touch.Darkness fell. Someone came, pulled me to my feet, and sent me out of the barn, into the little tavern. It was crowded, overwhelmed with people. Someone—Ian?—said that Jamie had food for me outside.He was alone there, in the empty woodshed, dimly lit by a distant lantern.I’d stood in the doorway, swaying. Or perhaps it was the room that swayed.I could see my fingers dug into the wood of the doorjamb, nails gone white.

A movement in the dimness. He rose fast, seeing me, came toward me. What was his

“Jamie.”

I’d felt a distant sense of relief at finding his name.

He’d seized me, drawn me into the shed, and I wondered for an instant whether I was walking or whether he was carrying me; I heard the scrape of the dirt floor under my feet but didn’t feel my weight or the shift of it.He was talking to me, the sound of it soothing. It seemed a dreadful effort to distinguish words. I knew what he must be saying, though, and managed to say, “All right. Just… tired,” wondering even as I spoke them whether these sounds were words at all, let alone the right ones.“Will ye sleep, then, lass?” he’d said, worried eyes fixed on me. “Or can ye eat a bit first?” He let go of me, to reach for the bread, and I put out a hand to the wall to support myself, surprised to find it solid.The sense of cold numbness had returned.“Bed,” I said. My lips felt blue and bloodless. “With you. Right now.”He’d cupped my cheek, calloused palm warm on my skin. Big hand. Solid. Above all, solid.“Are ye sure, a nighean?” he’d said, a note of surprise in his voice. “Ye look as though—”I’d laid a hand on his arm, half fearing that it would go through his flesh.“Hard,” I’d whispered. “Bruise me.”My glass was empty, the decanter halfway full. I poured another and took hold of the glass carefully, not wanting to spill it, determined to find oblivion, no matter how temporary.

Could I separate entirely? I wondered.

Could my soul actually leave my body without my dying first?

Or had it done so already?...

95 NUMBNESS~An Echo in the Bone

[angela-maps]

Druid's Home

The druid’s shack is a little old place where you can…change the weather? Deep in the heart of a primeval forest, or tucked away in a pleasantly wooded enclave in one corner of a bustling city, this cozy home with its thatched roof, its cookhouse outbuilding, and verdant pond is an oasis of sustainable living in harmony with nature. As a refuge from the perils of some untamed wilderness, or as a place to source ancient wisdom and natural remedies, let your players take a breather from the strain of adventuring with a visit to this charming cottage where it seems nothing could ever go wrong. Unless, of course, it happens to be the season of the witch…? Fully animated and featuring roofed and interior views, this map is a hoot and you can’t bear to miss (moss?) out on it!⁠ ⁠

[wastedr00k]

ruin my life

gekko x reader

synopsis; in which gekko panics and says the opposite of how he really feels

genre; angst with happy ending

words: 2162

after the successful mission, you headed back to the headquarters along with the other agents. everyone was in high spirits, chatting with each other on the chopper back, and you were no exception.

"totally dude! i never know wings could have jumped that high!" Gekko joked with Brim as you watched from your seat beside him. this is what you admired about Mateo, his energy along with his cheerful nature was such a huge contrast to every other agent, making him stand out in your eyes.

as you felt the exhaustion catch up to you, you did the only thing that you could think of,

"Mateooo," you dragged his name out, making him turn his attention to you.

"what's up, cariño? are you feeling tired?" Mateo asked as he gently pushed your head onto his shoulder.

"mhm, i'm gonna get some shut eye." you muttered, then gathering up all your remaining energy, you wrapped your arms around Mateo's arm, holding it close to your chest.

Gekko let out a silent chuckle, leaning his head onto yours, "rest well, cariño. i'll be here." then returning to his conversation with Brim.

as you drifted off to sleep, you felt Mateo's hand slowly interlace with yours, but maybe it was just the sleep haziness or part of your wishful thinking.

-

"... cariño, wake up we're home." Mateo's voice faded in as your heavy eyelids started to open, seeing Mateo's face barely inches away from yours.

as you felt your cheeks start to heat up, you jolted awake and created some distance between the two of you,

"thanks Mateo." you muttered as you started stretching as an excuse to look away from him, "let's go."

rising from your seat, you slowly made your way out of the chopper, with Gekko close behind you.

slowly catching up to the other agents, you felt recharged and perhaps, ready to join the conversation once again with Mateo by your side of course.

"the lovebirds are finally here." Phoenix joked as you and Gekko walked into his view, "where have you two been?"

Gekko rubbed his hands to the back of the neck, "well someone was deep asleep, i had to wake them up." then eyeing you.

raising both your hands up in the air, you playfully rolled your eyes at Mateo, "it's not my fault that i did most of the heavy work, of course i would be tired."

he only laughed as he placed his hands on your lower back, pushing you to join the rest, "whatever you say, your highness."

as everyone settled down onto the seats in the cookhouse, conversation flowed among everyone and soon it landed on the theme of the upcoming valentines day.

"oh come on! we all know that you like (y/n)! the two of you are always so sticky with each other, you even call her 'darling'!" Phoenix countered back to Gekko.

both yours and Mateo's cheeks were bright red at this point, the both of you were indeed close, very close. practically spending all your free time with each other, going to the same site together and having each other's backs. Gekko's endearing nicknames for you, ranging from 'dear' to even 'love' on times where he slipped up. if other didn't know any better, they would have thought the two of you were a couple, a very sweet one too.

maybe this was the time that Mateo confessed, your hopes were high, a smile started to form on your face as your hands unconsciously reached out for Mateo's.

as the pressure from the rest started to pile up, Gekko was starting to feel the weight of it all, and in a split second, a totally unthought through decision, he sputtered out,

"no! i don't like them like that! we're just... very uhh, good friends! that's all!" Mateo said all this while waving his hands around in the air, face still beet red, "there's nothing more than that between us!"

and just like that, the room fell silent. your face even redder, your hands stopping it their tracks. did you have the wrong impression this whole time? as all the endearing nicknames, physical contact, time spent together just... nothing?

"ah you should have said so bro! we would have quit it." Phoenix dismissed Gekko, and soon the conversation resume among all the agents, except you and Gekko.

with your gaze stuck on your lap, you couldn't find the right words to say. your vision started to blur as tears started welling up, you had it wrong the whole time.

"i-i." Gekko felt the regret instantly after the words left his mouth, he loved you but he just couldn't get it out correctly.

turning to face you and his hands desperately seeking you out, anything to undo the words he said, "cariño, listen please. i didn't mean-"

"it's okay, i had it wrong the whole time, it seems." you dryly chuckled to yourself, "we're just friends, that's all." your finger fiddling with the knot of the the matching bracelet he made for you on your birthday, undoing it then placing it on the table in front of him, "let's just take it as none of... whatever we had, never happened, Gekko."

your use of his code name freezed his once warm heart. standing up to leave the cookhouse, you left Gekko alone with the weight of his regret, stuck and unable to move as he watched you retreat away from him.

Gekko's buddies sensing his hurt, materialised and gather around him, in an effort to comfort him.

"what do I do now?" he held his head in his hands, "she mean the world to me, heck, I.. I love her. I don't know why i said that." he muttered, brain racing to find a solution to the mess he created.

his time was ticking, a countdown to the end and potential ruination of your relationship.

-

for the next few days, you kept your distance between Gekko and yourself. anything to reduce the number of times he took up in your brain, heart as well. out of sight, out of mind.

your room, now devoid from anything that he gave you. the picture of the two of you as missing from your desk, his jacket he gave you after you complained to him about how cold the admin office is, now missing from your closet but not throw away. you could never bring yourself to throw away anything he gave you. it's just that, it was still too much to even look at the things that reminded you for him.

while you were trying to keep him out of your mind, Gekko was busy trying to claw his away back into your life. at first he tried going to find you on his own, hoping that his sincerity would get to you.

-

humming to yourself, you stood and waited for your instant noodles to be fully cooked while browsing your feed.

"cariño. please hear me out." his voiced made you turn to attention to him. and indeed, there he stood, a bouquet of flowers in his hand and a cup of bubble tea in his other hand.

just like that, your headache and heartache appeared. turning to make an escape, Gekko's body stood in the way.

"what do you want, Gekko?" you mumbled, still trying to dodge around him and head for the door.

"please just hear me out, it's not what it seems.".

"yeah yeah. you already said your peace, just leave me alone.". you placed your hands on his upper arm, "i have places to be."

just as quick as your noodles cooked, you were out of the break room. not very quick to be honest.

-

soon, more attempts to get through to you were made by Gekko, anything under the sun that he could think of has been attempted.

waiting for you to end your lecture? done.

ordering food to your room and bribing the chef to write out, 'please call me back' on the omelet? check.

pasting sticky notes on your room door? yeap.

since all that didn't work, Gekko had to use his triumph card, the forbidden cuteness of wingman. he knew you could never turn down wingman.

his plan? we'll see.

today, an innocent but heartbroken you laid in your bed, soaking in your thoughts, maybe it would be better to just-

a knock on your door stopped your train of thoughts, it's 8pm, what could be awaiting you at this time?

dragging yourself to the door, you wearily opened it, only to see no one at the door, until you felt a soft yet familiar touch on your shin. looking down, you saw the one and only wingman.

he stood at your feet, looking up at you with an piece of paper in his hands that reads,

'i lost gekko, please help me :_('

you couldn't help but let out a slight smile, you indeed could not turn down the cuteness of wingman. as you bent down to pick him up, Gekko slowly made his way from around the corner, with yet another bouquet of flowers in his hand.

rolling your eyes, you swiftly swooped wingman up in your arms and shut your door before he could get to you.

leaning against the door, you held wingman tight against you. Gekko on the other side of the door softly knocking and pleading for you to open the door to him.

"please cariño. just 1 minute, then i'll l-leave you alone if you want me to. i'll never speak to you again if that's what you wish but please give me 1 mintues.".

wingman snuggled close to you, he missed you just as much as Gekko does. his soft purrs were like slowly coaxing your tears out again. you missed Mateo even more than you could ever admit.

"i don't know why i said those words, i should have thought it through first. now i messed up our relationship." Mateo slumped against the door and slid down onto the floor, leaning his head against the door, "truth is, i- i don't know if it's too sudden to say this but, i love you. so fucking much."

your heart skipped a beat, the three words you were waiting to hear him Mateo had finally reached your ears. now your heart just need to hear a reason to remove the barrier between the both of you.

"if i could do it all over again i would, i would tell you that i love you in front of everyone. i missed you so very much these few days, it really feels like it's been a thousand years. shit, i miss you so much my love."

your tear were already full streaming down your face, your initial fear of yet another heartbreak has dissipated fully, and now, all that you wanted is to do is be wrapped in Mateo's arms. spill your heart out along with your undying love for him. this was more than enough reason for your heart to remove the barrier between the both of you.

"it's been a minute, i understand. i'm sorry for hurting you my love- cariño. i won't bother you anymore."

Mateo's dejected tone was enough to make you shoot up from the floor and press the handle of the door down before you could even fully gain your balance.

and there he was, stumbling backwards from the sudden loss of support, landing at your feet.

immediately, he grabbed you by the shoulder and pulled you into his warm and strong arms, the same ones that will always have your back in any situation.

nuzzling his face into your hair, he mumbled a mix of apologies and appreciation, all while wingman hugs your leg.

"Mateo." you sighed into his chest, tightening your grip around his waist.

"yes, mi amor?" Mateo answered, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours.

smiling, you placed your hands on his cheeks and pulled him closer. with a gentle whisper, "i love you, Mateo.".

his cheeks burned up and in yet another rash move, Mateo placed his lips onto yours, his hands sliding up to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss.

the both of you only pulled away when wingman started to whine about this sudden public display of affection. laughing, you picked wingman up and guided him into your room, landing on your bed where Mateo took you back into his embrace.

"i missed you." he sighed into your hair once again.

"i know, my dear." chuckling, you gestured towards wingman, "so much that i couldn't resist wings.".

laughing, Gekko nodded and gave wingman a fist bump to his buddy, "thanks wings." chirping in response, wingman snuggled up the the both of you.

somethings can never be undone, but with sincerity and a pure heart, nothing is really impossible. this is love in the purest form, in all it's patience and forgiveness.

[ginandoldlace]

Minster Lovell Hall, Oxfordshire.

There has been a manor house at Minster Lovell since the 12th century, and it has always had a close association with the church of St Kenelm next door.

The scattered ruins we see today are all that remains of the fortified manor house that was rebuilt by William, 7th Baron Lovell in the 1430’s, a soldier who gained immense wealth during the Hundred Years War with France and became one of the wealthiest men in England.

William also had the church of St Kenelm rebuilt at the same time as his new manor house, and his magnificent tomb and alabaster effigy dressed in full coat armour sits in the South Chancel of the church.

His grandson, Francis Lovell, was a Yorkist and was created Viscount Lovell by King Richard III, who visited here in 1483, although following his defeat at Bosworth in 1485 Minster Lovell became forfeit and passed to the Crown.

In 1602 it came into the possession of Thomas Coke, Earl of Leicester. It was updated around 1702 but was later abandoned by the family around 1747 for their new property, and the hall was largely dismantled for its stone leaving the ruins we see today

Minster Lovell is a very pretty village of thatched cottages and the Hall is set in a beautiful valley location, which is popular with families in the Summer months. Access is free to the ruins which are now managed by English Heritage.

Photo one shows St Kenelm’s church taken from between the ruins of the Great Hall and Cookhouse of Minster Lovell Hall, showing their close proximity.

The other photos show various views of the ruins, with photo 9 of the medieval Dovecote and photo 10 a drone shot giving a view of the whole site layout.

[motleyfam]

Dick is convinced that food always tastes better after a show.

His dad laughs and tells him it’s just because they’re acrobats and they can’t eat much prior to spending a few hours intricately twisting and flipping their bodies through the air over the dizzying roar of the crowds below. Hunger, he tells his son, has always been the best spice. But Dick thinks there’s more to it than that. There’s something about the buzz — the energy following a performance — that makes even the simplest of dishes special.

With so many different cultures and nationalities represented at Haly’s, Dick is used to eating all sorts of things, learns to tell who’s making dinner each night by the aroma of the various herbs and spices wafting out from the tent. There’s a Russian acrobat and a Taiwanese contortionist and a French wire walker and a clown from Cleveland, and the only common factor seems to be their insistence that the nine-year-old could use some more meat on his bones. He helps his mother stir cornmeal porridge and stuff cabbage leaves with ground meat and rice while his dad, grinning, juggles bell peppers and onions and cans of tomato paste in an arc above their heads.

It’s always late at night by the time they gather around the plastic folding tables with full plates, aching muscles, and weary smiles. Snippets from conversations in three or four different languages wash over Dick, and he doesn’t understand everything, but he doesn’t mind it either. The food and laughter warm him from the inside out, and he eats until his belly is full and his eyelids start to grow heavy. His mother pulls him into her lap and lets him curl up against her chest, and he’s lulled to sleep by the hum of the troupe members’ voices, perfectly safe and content.

The night that Dick’s parents fall to their deaths, there’s beef goulash simmering on the cookhouse stove and just the smell is enough to make him sick.

[alpinearts]

im normal about my frostpunk ocs (left guy is seth ratigan and right guy is pallav sachdeva)

im going through a giant artblock right now so this all looks like shit but ohh my goddddddd therye soooo goofy. infodump under the cut

before you read, this story has a bad ending. this'll involve talk of cannibalism, murder-suicides, and apocalyptic stuff. i dont think ive done a bad ending before so im going a bit wild with it.

theyre for the frostpunk arks scenario where a bunch of engineers have to preserve seeds for the future of humanity! along the way they gotta automate the whole settlement before a huge storm hits so the seeds survive even after everyone dies.

seth ratigan is the lead mech engineer who helped draft a bunch of automaton designs and pallav sachdeva is the lead botanist. they met in university (roommates because im a sucker for that trope) and fell in love there! both of them are closeted and keep the relationship a secret.

pallav has a sister, nima, whos an ecologist. when they arrive at the arks shes drafted as a scout and gives the reader a view as to whats happening out in the field so to speak. at the beginning of the story when all the engineers are climbing a cliff, seth slips and knocks himself out. everyone keeps climbing except for nima and pallav, and she pulls him to safety. towards the end she gets lost on a scouting expedition and ends up completely spiralling and killing her fellow explorers. cannibalism mightve been involved. she represents corruption in the pursuit of survival. she may or may not be azulin from unicorn wars

sethhhh....... sethhh..... he represents loss of hope. as lead engineer he gives the reader insight into the inner workings of the arks, both mechanically and politically. hes irish and OHH ITS 1:51 AM AND I HAVE WORK AT 9 AM !!!!! hes IRISH!!! and AWESOME!!!!! AND HE SERVES AS THE VOICE OF DOUBT!!! towards the end as the storm approaches, he gets completely overworked by the leader and the stress + sleep deprivation just drives him over the edge. and at the height of the storm when everyone else is dead he kinda. he kinda kills pallav. and then himself. not cool dude.

pallav serves as our insight into how the people are reacting to all this and he represents altruism + perseverence in the face of certain death. oh its 1:55. oh my god. once the arks are fully automated he gets moved to the hothouses as a supervisor, which means he has more proximity to cookhouses and medical tents than our other protagonists. while seth and nima go from kindhearted and optimistic to corrupt and hopeless, pallav stays steady. throughout the whole series he maintains a positive attitude and is always looking to help people. at first seth just laughs along and entertains him, such as the scene at the very top of this post where they're talking about flowers and cottages. im thinking pallav wants to pretend with seth, for just a moment, that all of this will blow over and they can go back to their life in england, get a cottage and whatnot. seth pushes back saying that realistically they wont make it, pallav asks him to play along and so he does. its a stark contrast to their deaths and how much the arks have changed them.

the seedlings survived, but at what cost?

[sueske]

Book of Fate by Luca Wilding / California Dreamin' by The Mamas & The Papas / In Another Life by Cookhouse / All I wanted by Paramore / Pink in the Night by Mitski / Ghengis Khan by Miike Snow

[the-faramir]

Another One of Midori's Dreams

Midori shambled into the cookhouse to get a cup of morning coffee. "I had another weird dream last night." She filled up her mug with strong, black brew and took a sip. "Yeah, the spirits must've been talkin' to me in my sleep or somethin', because this took place on another planet!" She sat on a stool and began to recount her tale.

"So I was myself: Midori. But not in this life. No, it was…an alternate universe or some such. I was a human! Not a kitsune in human form. Although, in the dream, I looked exactly like my tailless form…my human form: red hair green eyes, but bare skin! An' of course, every bit as gorgeous as I am like this!

"My parents were still alive! My siblings were there, too! We all lived together in a big…not a house, really, but a bunch of connected suites that were part of a huge, tall building that went right up into the sky! We had to ride a…hoist of some sort…powered by some kinda magic, I guess…to get up to the suites an' back down again. Oh! Oh! Auntie Ume (she's my mama's older sister) lived with us, too! She helped take care of the place an' cooked food an' stuff.

"Oh, this wasn't in Minkai! It wasn't even in Absalom! I did say it was another planet, though: Earth. Yeah, I know, a planet named after dirt! Sounds silly, right? Well, it must be pretty popular, 'cause I've heard tell of so many Earths out there with different situations goin' on. But it was in a really big city, even bigger than Absalom! It was a new city, new 'somethin'' city…New Yawk City! Yeah! In some important part of town called somethin' like Man's Hattin'. We had moved there when I was eight years old from a country that was kind of like Minkai, but had a different name…means 'origin of the sun'…uh, Nihon! An' my parents worked in this new city as diplomats, just like in the real world! So we had money an' education an' it was really nice an' cozy there.

"So, yeah, I was eighteen there just like I am here, but I had just graduated from school. I went to a special school that taught me how to sing an' stuff. An' even before I left school, I became a famous singer! See, I met friends there who were also from other countries, an' we formed a girl band called the Wayward Wonders. Not a circus at all! We became famous. Not like 'superstar famous,' though, but more popular among the teenage an' young adult crowd with some creepy old men thrown in for the cringe factor. Uh, the tunes were pretty solid an' upbeat, but the lyrics were kinda sugary an' vapid at times. Like this:"

🎶🎶🎶 From all corners of the world we came The dreams we dreamt were one and the same In the city that never sleeps… We found a rhythm that leaps!

Harmony in diversity! Melodies that set us free Voices from the east to west Together, we sing, we never rest

Underneath the neon lights Our songs take their wildest flights From our new homes in NYC We're the wonders for all to see

Sofia's warmth, Amina's mystery Elena's depth, Lily's history And Midori with her mighty tone Together, we've found our true home!

Harmony in diversity! Melodies that set us free From different worlds, we confess In unity, we find success

We are the Wayward Wonders With our voices loud as thunder Hear our song, it's almost done We are different, but we sing as one! 🎶🎶🎶

"Oof! I'll never get that song out of my head now!

"Anyhow, it was a fun dream. I really liked havin' my family around again, even if it wasn't really real.

"But where do all o' these weird dreams keep comin' from?"

Wayward Wonders "Harmony in Diversity" Wayward Wonders On the Scene (2024) Plus One Recordings

[qe-podfic]

Check out the cover illustration for Chapter 2 of Quantum Entangled. Made by the wonderfully talented @commentdismal

So impressive. The rendering took my knees. /pos

Excerpt below cut:

Crowley uneasily drifted into wakefulness with a crick in his neck, a mild hangover making itself apparent via an insistent thumping at the back of his skull. The lingering stench of a headache was drumming inside his head like he was the unfortunate desk assigned to a kid with ADHD. All things considered, it wasn’t the worst way Crowley had ever woken up. It didn’t even make the top ten. That’s why, despite not knowing exactly what reason he had for falling asleep on his own damn couch, he wasn’t all that concerned. Slowly, like a ping-pong ball through molasses, memories of the previous night trickled into his awareness.

Aziraphale was here. Aziraphale was here and in his bed. Aziraphale was here and in his bed and wearing his clothes. At once, Crowley realised he had made a grave tactical error.

Drunk Crowley and sober Crowley were only the same person by virtue of the fact that they unfortunately shared a body. Currently, sober Crowley was cursing—quite creatively, mind you—the very notion of that unavoidable fact. Always trying to make the best out of a bad situation, he decided to approach the morning with an impudent unfuckedness. As the saying went: ‘Not fucked over was the one who was unfucked.’ (-Confucius, probably.)

Crowley checked his watch, surprised to find that it was no later than eleven am. He wanted breakfast, or brunch, or just a nice package for the calories he depended on to… Y’know… Live. And it would be rude, if he was cooking for himself, to not at least offer something to his—rather reluctant, he remembered, mortified—guest.

Each stride rendered as unfucked as he could manage, he made his way to the kitchen. First, he used his hideously expensive coffee machine (a ROCKET MOZZAFIATO—imported from Italy) to make one flash bastard of a latte, with the ultimate goal of kicking his A1 adenosine receptors into a more coherent semblance of order. E.g. not receiving adenosine.

Then, he took a wok from his large and impressive array of pots and pans, like a gallery of hung men above the island bench top, and placed it on his induction stove. The stove itself was seamlessly blended into the counter in such a way that it made people helpless to envision burnt hands and accidental emergency-room phone calls. The sleek black design (because Crowley could be sold on almost anything if you made it sleek and black enough) was self-aggrandising in the same way that many circumspect judges on certain cooking shows were. The kitchen as a whole, really, was a lustrous example of the kind of high-tech cookhouse you’d find in the back of a Michelin star restaurant. 

Grabbing a few eggs from the fridge, Crowley scoured for omelette ingredients that were both generally palatable as to, hopefully, not be offensive to Aziraphale’s tastes—whatever they were—and impressive enough to make Crowley seem like he, at the very least,  knew what he was doing on a culinary level. Sticking to his mantra of unfuckedness, Crowley picked out some bacon, cheese, and spinach, along with various herbs and spices from the pantry. Crowley liked omelettes as a general rule. The ratio of effort to edible nutrition was highly favourable—having spent most of his life as a university student with no spare energy to waste on frivolous flambés, brûlées, or any other such fancy French dish.

Making an omelette wasn’t a difficult process. There were two steps; step one was to put all of your ingredients (chopped or unchopped depending on how groggy you were when preparing it) into the pan. Step two was to wait. Heat and time. They were the universal duo that laid claim to the title of ‘instigator’ in most molecular reactions.

Obedient to this philosophy of unfuckedness, heat and time, Crowley chopped bacon, cracked eggs, tore spinach, and altogether cooked a damn good meal. With the two omelettes cooling on their respective plates (the plates were square shaped and black because Crowley refused to be acquainted with the typical agreement of things) he ventured through his cupboards on a mission for tea. Aziraphale seemed like the tea-drinking kind. Finding an abandoned box of loose-leaf French Earl Grey, the label slightly sun faded, he put the kettle on.

Proud of his domestic accomplishments, he set off to wake Aziraphale. He hoped the comestible peace offering would be a balm for any of the awkwardness left over, lingering, from last night.

“Knock, knock,” he greeted onomatopoeically, tapping on the bedroom door.

“Urmf—Crowley?” came the quiet reply, obvious in how freshly awake it sounded. Crowley opened the door, just a crack—not enough to see into the room but enough to let some light in—before chuckling mildly.

“Morning, Angel. I made breakfast. Tea is available too, if you want some.” There was a muffled sound of agreement, and then the distinct shuffling of someone getting out of bed. Crowley padded his way to the kitchen to give the man some privacy.

He was halfway through his own omelette, near-afternoon sun shining down on him from large windows on the east side of the kitchen, when Aziraphale made his presence known. With a curt clearing of the throat, he stood, unsure of himself, at the edge of the kitchen’s connecting hall.

Crowley was fucked. Oh, he was so utterly fucked. Aziraphale made an innocuous image, in Crowley's home, in Crowley's clothes; but that did not stop the racing ambitions of Crowley's mind. Aziraphale wasn't to know this, though. The Queen shirt hung loose on him, gently draping over one shoulder but leaving the other exposed. Crowley felt like a Victorian—or the man responsible for the dress codes of high school girls—scandalised at the revelation of flesh. He reprimanded himself for his undignified train of thought. Aziraphale deserved more than to be ogled like a piece of meat at the snout of a hungry, hungry hound. He couldn't possibly help that his hair was bed-messy, nor the fact that it did terrible things to Crowley's sense of composure. Nonetheless, Crowley would survive. He wasn't a wanton beast. Humanity afforded him—in theory—some amount of dignity.

“Your plate’s over there. I tried to guess how you take your tea; is ‘two sugars and a splash of milk’ anywhere at all close?” he asked Aziraphale, swallowing a bite to hide the raspy quality of his own voice. The astonishment on Aziraphale's face answered a simple ‘yes’. Although, maybe it was astonishment at the breakfast laid out in front of him. It wasn't really a normal move, Crowley reflected sheepishly, to cook a meal for the guy who had just come over for a drunken movie marathon. But Crowley wasn't normal in most things, so he resolutely didn't think about it.

“Yes,” Aziraphale murmured, gaping a little.

“That's exactly how I take it.” The whisper was draped in the kind of mid-morning confusion that only ever occurred after a late night of considerable drinking. He gently cupped the mug, tendrils of steam rising from it in fragrant arches. Sipping the beverage softly, his eyes fluttered shut, simple pleasure oozing from the drop in his shoulders.

“Thank you, Crowley.” His voice was etched in all-too-raw sincerity. He opened his eyes, gazing at him with the kind of look that forced Crowley to turn away.

“Don't thank me. It's the least I could do,” Crowley mumbled weakly. Undeterred, but still feigning propriety, Aziraphale hummed in absent acquiescence. He took the plate with his omelette, looking suddenly affected.

The gentle graze of porcelain plate against the bench top seemed almost reverent, as Aziraphale sat himself on the barstool next to Crowley’s. One thing that Crowley had learnt about Aziraphale—in the heated revelry of their late evening—was that he liked food. No, he didn't just like food. He loved food. Adored food. Damn near worshipped food. As he slowly raised the fork to his lips, Crowley hoped that the sacrifice was fit for the tabernacle of his idolatry.

Aziraphale’s eyes popped open in wide, slightly hedonism-glazed, surprise. 

“Oh—” He almost keened. And, if Crowley wasn't already red in the face, this would have been the inelegant signal that drove blood to the apple of his cheeks.

“Oh! This is simply scrumptious!” Aziraphale praised, made guileless by the distraction of—rather excellent, in his opinion—cuisine. Crowley ducked his head as if trying to bob under the blow of his words.

Untrusting of his vocal cords, Crowley didn't reply, content to revel in silence while Aziraphale finished his meal. The relative quiet gave him the chance to recalibrate after the unexpected misalignment of his neurological circuitry. It was peaceful. Cosy.

Discord:

AO3:

[gatheringbones]

[“In 1866, nearly all the settlers in King County signed a petition against the creation of a Duwamish reservation along the Black River in south Seattle. Hundreds of Duwamish people had rejected the terms of the Point Elliott treaty, which created the Port Madison reservation across the Sound on Suquamish territory, and called for their own reservation located on their ancestral homelands near the fork of the Duwamish and Black Rivers. With backing from the Indian agent of Washington Territory, George Paige, the federal government appeared ready to move ahead with the Duwamish reservation when the settlers got wind of the plan and moved to squash it. As Paige noted in a report, “The white settlers in the neighborhood desire to have [the Indians] remain among them, that they may avail themselves of their labor, yet at the same time they are unwilling they should have a reservation where they are, because they, the white men, want to appropriate the valuable bottom land which they occupy.” In other words, settlers desired Duwamish land and Duwamish labor, and the involvement of the federal government in the form of a reservation threatened both.

In the absence of federal control, town leaders, many of the settlers and prominent landowners who occupied government positions at the local and county levels, took on the role of managing the Indigenous presence in Seattle. They did this primarily through segregation and other modes of containment. Though boundaries had been imposed during the previous decade in the form of land claims and town plats, these remained just scribbles on a piece of paper, abstract lines that meant little in daily life—particularly in the 1850s and early 1860s, when settlers were outnumbered, ill equipped, and reliant on Indigenous knowledge and labor. By the mid-1860s, however, the balance had shifted, and settlers had gained more power, in numbers as well as through the creation of the municipal state. The removal ordinance was passed on the heels of Seattle’s official incorporation and coincided with the founding of the city police, the election of the first mayor, and the construction of a new courthouse; trials until that point had been held in Yesler’s cookhouse. And while the ordinance simply formalized a spatial division that was already taking shape by 1865, the town now had an apparatus of enforcement to police these boundaries and punish those who transgressed. Ordinance 5 would be one of several passed during the next decade that restricted the movement and residency of Indigenous peoples in Seattle, serving to criminalize their very presence in the town and further legitimize white settler claims to the land."]

megan asaka, from seattle from the margins: exclusion, erasure, and the making of a pacific coast city, 2022